Chapter 4
I had seen Brianna’s face before.
Jordan showed me her picture during the first month we dated.
“She nearly destroyed my life,” he had said.
He told me she was jealous.
Unstable.
Obsessed with him.
He said she had threatened to accuse him of things he never did.
I believed him.
Now I sat at my parents’ kitchen table staring at an old photograph Detective Brooks had emailed to my father.
Brianna Cole.
Twenty-one years old.
Brown eyes.
Wide smile.
Long twists.
A nursing student.
She looked normal.
Happy.
Alive.
“What do you mean disappeared?” I asked.
Detective Brooks was still on speakerphone.
“She left her apartment one evening and never returned.”
“Did they think Jordan did something?”
“He was interviewed.”
My father leaned closer to the phone.
“And?”
“No charges were filed.”
“Why not?”
“Because Jordan had an alibi.”
I felt sick.
“Who gave it?”
There was a pause.
“A professor.”
My eyes closed.
I already knew the name before Detective Brooks said it.
“Dr. Wallace Reed.”
My father looked at me.
“You know him?”
“He was Jordan’s advisor.”
More than that.
Dr. Reed had been the professor who signed the final paperwork accepting my withdrawal.
My father understood immediately.
“You’re telling me the same professor who helped remove my daughter from school gave this guy an alibi?”
Detective Brooks answered carefully.
“I’m telling you we’re reviewing everything.”
Dad stood.
“That sounds like protecting yourselves.”
“Marcus,” Mom said.
“No.”
His voice shook with anger.
“My daughter reported this man. Your system failed her. The university failed her. Now another woman has been missing for two years?”
Detective Brooks did not become defensive.
“You have every right to be angry.”
Dad stopped.
“But anger will not help Maya if it causes us to move carelessly.”
That reached him.
He sat down again.
I stared at Brianna’s photograph.
“Was she ever found?”
“No.”
My stomach rolled.
“Did Jordan keep anything about her?”
I suddenly remembered something.
The files.
“Raymond.”
My uncle looked up from his laptop.
“Search Brianna.”
He typed.
Nothing.
Then he tried “Cole.”
Still nothing.
I thought harder.
Jordan never called her Brianna when he talked about her.
He called her “B.”
“Search just B.”
Too many results.
Then I remembered a phrase.
He once told me, “B taught me never to trust anyone.”
“Search ‘B taught me.’”
Raymond typed it.
A text file appeared.
Everyone went still.
He opened it.
There were only four lines.
B taught me to prepare.
M learned faster.
N almost became a problem.
Never underestimate guilt.
My hands went numb.
Dad read it twice.
“What does M mean?”
Nobody answered.
Because we all knew.
Maya.
Me.
“N?” Mom whispered.
Raymond searched the files.
A folder appeared.
N-H.
Nicole Harmon.
The woman who had accused Jordan before retracting everything.
Inside were screenshots of messages Jordan had threatened to send to Nicole’s parents.
Photographs from a party.
Information about her younger brother’s arrest.
Copies of her scholarship documents.
And an audio file.
Raymond clicked it.
Nicole’s trembling voice filled our kitchen.
“Jordan, please. I’ll delete the post.”
His voice answered.
“You made me look dangerous.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You should be.”
“I said I’m sorry.”
“Then prove it.”
The recording stopped.
My mother looked horrified.
Dad’s chair scraped backward.
“That’s enough.”
But it was not enough.
Not anymore.
I needed to know everything.
“There might be more.”
Dad looked at me.
“Maya—”
“I need to hear it.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Yes.”
My voice rose.
“I spent months thinking I was crazy.”
Everyone became quiet.
“I thought maybe I really was dramatic. Maybe I misunderstood him. Maybe I caused all of this.”
Tears filled my eyes.
“I need to know what was real.”
Dad slowly sat again.
Raymond clicked the next file.
Jordan’s voice.
Calm.
Cold.
“If you tell anyone what happened, they’ll believe me.”
Nicole whispered, “Why?”
“Because I’m calm and you’re crying.”
The recording ended.
I stopped breathing.
That sentence could have been said to me.
Maybe it had been.
I could not remember anymore.
Raymond immediately copied the file for Detective Brooks.
Within an hour, she called again.
“We’re bringing Nicole in.”
“Will she talk?”
“We hope so.”
That afternoon, Dad installed six cameras.
Front porch.
Back door.
Driveway.
Side yard.
Living room entrance.
Garage.
He checked every lock twice.
Grandma watched him.
“You cannot build a fortress around fear.”
Dad frowned.
“I can try.”
She looked toward me.
“She needs more than locked doors.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
Dad looked tired.
Grandma lowered her voice.
“She needs to know you trust her judgment.”
He looked at me.
I pretended not to hear.
But later, he came upstairs.
I was sitting on my childhood bed.
The walls were still pale lavender.
An old graduation photo sat on the dresser.
I looked happy in it.
Almost like a stranger.
Dad sat beside me.
“When you left earlier…”
I waited.
“When I told you to leave.”
His voice cracked.
“I keep replaying it.”
I looked down.
“I know.”
“I became my father.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Dad—”
“He thought anger made him strong.”
My father shook his head.
“I spent my whole life believing I was different.”
“You came after me.”
“After Grandma forced me to remember who I wanted to be.”
I looked at him.
“That still counts.”
His eyes filled.
“No child should have to convince a parent to listen.”
I swallowed.
“I wasn’t exactly easy to understand.”
He frowned.
“Don’t do that.”
“What?”
“Make excuses for me.”
The words stunned me.
“You came home crying.”
He continued.
“You said you needed help.”
His voice trembled.
“That should have been enough.”
I leaned into him.
For several minutes, we sat without speaking.
Then his phone buzzed.
Detective Brooks.
Dad answered.
Her voice sounded different.
More urgent.
“Nicole talked.”
I sat upright.
“What did she say?”
“She confirmed Jordan threatened her.”
Dad closed his eyes.
“And Brianna?”
A long pause.
“Nicole met Brianna once.”
My heart pounded.
“When?”
“Two weeks before Brianna disappeared.”
I gripped Dad’s sleeve.
Detective Brooks continued.
“According to Nicole, Brianna believed Jordan and Dr. Reed were stealing student identities together.”
Dad stared at me.
“What?”
“She said Brianna had evidence.”
I whispered, “Like my flash drive.”
“Yes.”
“What happened to it?”
“We don’t know.”
Then Detective Brooks said something that changed the entire case.
“Nicole also remembered one more thing.”
“What?”
“Brianna told her she had hidden a backup somewhere Jordan would never think to look.”
“Where?”
“She didn’t say.”
I looked toward my old bookshelf.
My heart suddenly skipped.
Jordan had told me once that Brianna loved leaving clues.
He said it mockingly.
“She thought life was some stupid treasure hunt.”
At the time, I thought it was another insult.
Now I remembered something else.
A photograph in Jordan’s apartment.
Brianna standing beside a mural on campus.
Behind her was a painted line from a poem.
HOME IS WHERE THE TRUTH WAITS.
I stood so suddenly Dad jumped.
May you like
“What?”
“I think Brianna left a clue.”
